


erase and replace

by ShowMeAHero



Category: IT (1990), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Amputee Eddie Kaspbrak, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:35:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26737492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: The hallway Eddie is in is a mess of color and noise and sensation, warping and blending together, and he feels like he might be dead.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 14
Kudos: 90
Collections: it (1990) one-shots





	erase and replace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [punchbowls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/punchbowls/gifts).



> written based off a prompt i got on tumblr from [skelesocks](https://skelesocks.tumblr.com) that read: _"for a prompt you did one where richie had a nightmare, so i raise you[eddie has a nightmare"](https://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/post/630720339359465472/for-a-prompt-you-did-one-where-richie-had-a)_

The hallway Eddie is in is a mess of color and noise and sensation, warping and blending together, and he feels like he might be dead.

When he tries to speak, no words come out. Just a choked, strangled sound that comes from deep inside his throat, maybe even somewhere in his chest, but it’s not words. When he tries to scream instead, still, it’s just a rasp. A husk of a sound and then nothing. Heart racing with panic, he turns to run, but he can’t turn. He can’t move, feet nailed to the floor, and his blood races and sings with fear.

No words come out still, but he tips dizzily to the side and yanks at the first doorknob he sees. The door throws itself open and flashing colors spill out. Overhead, a screech like some string instrument being demolished shatters the air, and Eddie sobs, no tears falling, no sounds coming. Delirious, he keeps trying to run, and still: nothing.

He keeps trying to scream, fighting against the strangled, choked whispers of nothingness that scrape out of his throat, but it’s still a whole lot of silence. Frustrated and terrified, he screams, he tries to run, to do  _ something,  _ but nothing happens.

In the next instant, he’s thrust in total darkness. He screams again, and this time, it comes out like it’s supposed to, ear-shattering and terrified. Sobbing, he tries to get up, only to realize he’s tangled in the sheets on his bed. He tears them off and falls to his knees on his bedroom floor; he thumps down so hard his teeth smash together, and he curls his head down into his chest, crying, screaming.

“Eddie, Eddie, honey, I’m right here,” Richie says. Eddie feels his hand on his back, but he can’t get himself to uncurl. Instead, he just wraps his arm around his head, wrapping his fingers up in his hair until they’re tangled in knots and yanking hard. “Oh, no, baby, don’t do that, hey, no—”

Eddie hiccups, breath catching as he tries to calm down, but he’s already halfway into the panic attack and he can’t reel it back in.

His vision’s a blur, but he can see the shape of Richie’s bare feet and ankles as he steps down in front of Eddie beside the bed. When Richie crouches down, Eddie still can’t get himself to relax, but Richie does it for him; he unwinds Eddie’s fingers from his hair until he can pull his arm up and around his own neck.

“I got you, baby,” Richie tells him. “I got you, Eds. I’m right here. Everything’s okay, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

Eddie still can’t speak, but his sobbing has deescalated into hiccuping crying. Richie tugs him in closer, pulling him into his lap. Eddie sprawls there, burying his face in Richie’s chest; he inhales his scent until his lungs are full, and then he exhales, slowly, trying to get his breathing to stop hitching. When Richie leans back against their bed, he shifts them around until Eddie’s curled up on his legs, head resting on Richie’s shoulder.

Richie keeps rubbing his back, hand scratching up into his hair every now and then, twisting around the curling ends of it. His other hand tangles up with Eddie’s, threading their fingers together. While Eddie keeps trying to calm his breathing and stop crying, telling himself it was just a ridiculous dream, Richie brings Eddie’s hand up and kisses the back of it. Eddie sniffles, tipping his face up. He closes his eyes, buried in Richie’s throat.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie tells him. His voice is torn and shredded from screaming and the sobbing that’s only barely just died down.

“No apologies needed, Spaghetti Man,” Richie says. His voice is loud in their dark bedroom before he pulls it down a few notches. Softly, he asks, “You okay?”

Eddie nods. Richie keeps their hands close to his mouth; he pushes the back of Eddie’s hand against his mouth again, holding it there. It takes another minute of just sitting there on the floor, Richie rocking him back and forth, kissing his hand and just breathing evenly, before Eddie can manage to speak. “I don’t remember what I was dreaming about. I was just— I was just, I was so lost.”

“You’re not lost anymore,” Richie tells him, and it’s nonsensical, but it’s calming. “I’m always gonna come after you, Eds. I’ll always find you. You’re safe with me.” He kisses Eddie’s temple, then his hair. “I love you. Love you, love you, love you. You’re okay.”

It takes some time for the terrifying shape of Eddie’s nightmare to fade from the edges of his mind. When it does, though, he turns closer into Richie, nuzzling into the soft space below his throat.

“Wanna get back up into bed, baby?” Richie asks. Eddie nods, so Richie lightly lifts him up and off himself, pushing Eddie to his feet. Eddie offers his hand, and Richie takes it, snug and warm in his own, secure. He hauls him up, too.

Richie takes a moment to straighten out their sheets and blankets. He makes the bed more neatly than he normally does, but more sloppily than Eddie’s usual. Eddie’s still so overwhelmed and emotional that the consideration brings tears burning back to his eyes again. His breath stutters in his throat.

Richie doesn’t say anything, but he folds the covers back on Eddie’s side and motions for him to get in. Once Eddie’s sitting down, he tucks the blankets up around him, coaxing him to lay flat, guiding him until he’s comfortably horizontal, his head ensconced by his soft pillow.

“There you go, hot stuff,” Richie murmurs. Eddie’s eyes are adjusted enough to the darkness that he can still see the shape of Richie; the closer he gets, the clearer he becomes, until he’s too close to see again and kissing the corner of Eddie’s mouth. His hair’s a mess, too, an auburn tangle smushed to one side. Eddie reaches up and cups Richie’s face in his hand.

“I love you,” Eddie tells him. He strokes his thumb under Richie’s eye. Richie pulls him into his arms again, warm and strong and huge in the darkness. It seems like he’s everywhere.

“I love you, too, Eddie,” Richie says. His grip around Eddie tightens, arms wound close; he tucks his face into Eddie’s throat, and Eddie can feel the small smile he presses there. “Oh, I love you so much.  _ So  _ much. Nothing bad is ever going to happen to you while I’m here, honey. I’m gonna take care of you until I’m old and can’t eat or fuck or walk anymore, I promise. I  _ promise.” _

Eddie can’t bring himself to speak normally, only to nod into Richie’s shoulder and inhale, deep, long, trying to even his breathing out. Tears keep falling, but he’s feeling okay now. Not frantic, not panicked. Just exhausted.

“Will you lay down with me?” Eddie asks. Richie nods, separating them with one last kiss to Eddie’s cheek. He clambers over Eddie into bed, slipping under their covers and wriggling into Eddie’s side. He slips his arm underneath Eddie and waits for him to get comfortable, too, fitting his face into the crook of Richie’s neck.

He gets his own hand in between them and strokes underneath Richie’s chin. When Eddie yawns, Richie pushes their foreheads together, wrapping them close and tangling them up until they’re inextricable. To Eddie’s ears, their heartbeats have nearly linked up, almost exactly matched. Richie kisses the side of his nose.

“No matter what happens,” Richie says, so quietly, into the dark, warm, quiet inch between them, “I will always have your back. I will  _ always  _ be there. You hear me, Eddie?”

“I hear you, Rich,” Eddie whispers back. Richie tilts his head up a fraction to kiss Eddie between the eyes. When they separate, Eddie takes advantage of their closeness and the angle to burrow into Richie’s chest, letting Richie wrap him up in him. “And that goes double for me. Just so you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Richie murmurs. “Close your eyes, big guy. Get some sleep. I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”

Eddie smiles. He kisses Richie’s chest where he can reach; his t-shirt is worn and warm under his cheek. The soft material covers up the hair on Richie’s chest and the heart beating underneath. He starts to fall into sleep, Eddie can hear it in his breathing, so he closes his eyes, too.

“I love you,” Richie mumbles. “I love,  _ love  _ you, Eds.”

“I love you,” Eddie echoes, voice muffled by Richie. Richie’s long fingers trail up and down Eddie’s back sleepily, in lazy, long designs. That’s how Eddie falls asleep again, dreamless, weightless.

The next morning, all he remembers is feeling warm and held.

**Author's Note:**

> You can (and should!) come chat with me on Twitter at [@nicole__mello](https://twitter.com/nicole__mello) and/or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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